Monday, February 4, 2008

L'heure Bleue

Another blue hour at the park, precious minutes between sunlight and dusk when the night seems on the brink and frozen. Snow has a way of making things stand still, even sound, and the color, which wanted to be orange under these terrible park lamps, was blue in spite of their effort. The snow was blue, my breath was blue, the slush sounds of traffic crawling over the ice was blue. Like a crushed berry. Even our tracks were blue, jazz notes caught on a blowing page, impermanent but perfect. Blue shadows amid blue drifts like a painting no one thought of. A splash, a streak of red, prancing merrily through the scene. Duncan, warmth enough on a night like this.

4 comments:

Lori said...

Curt, since I only found your blog a few weeks ago, I went back and have been catching up. The Duncan-surgery... scary! As a vet practice manager, I know what you were going through... and as the mom of a late and much mourned golden (My Ripley) who had hip surgery at six months old, I know how it feels to have to struggle to dig up the cash. You done the pup proud, though! Anxiety... I have a history of that as well, but nothing like yours. I'm glad you got the right diagnosis and treatment and seem to be doing great. I wish I'd known you during the magic feather phase. We see birds at our practice since one of our vets is an avian specialist, and I could've sent some pretty ones! AND, Ken is a CVT! Always good to have someone in the business as part of the family! I just made my vet my bestest bud, and that's worked out well! Anyway, I just wanted to say how much I'm enjoying getting to know you, Duncan, Ken, and the kitties!

Curt Rogers said...

Lori, I'm actually still kind of collecting feathers. My mother's birthday card contained three and various people still bring them to me. I'd LOVE some fancy ones to add to my bag, which I plan on keeping forever.

Traci said...

Lovely, lovely, lovely.

Lori said...

OK, next Macaw wing trim, and I'll get you some purty ones! Then we'll talk mailing addresses. (Saw a cockatoo necropsy yesterday... cool, but feathers from dead birdies would not be good karma.)